


Only To Be Without, Book 2

by swampmonster86



Series: Only To Be Without [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Blood and Violence, Demons, Gang Violence, Gangs, Gangsters, Graphic Description, Italian Mafia, Korean-American Character, Multi, Polyamorous Character, Russian Mafia, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23991220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swampmonster86/pseuds/swampmonster86
Summary: Peter learns that Nia is not the sort of person who is accustomed to taking no for an answer.Becca Rhee deals with the consequences of power.Toni Zabrowska bemoans his lack of freedom.
Series: Only To Be Without [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729987
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love it if any of you who are reading could take a little time and let me know what you think, and if you have made it this far in the series, I love you and thank you for reading.

(July, 2019 K-Town, Manhattan, New York, USA)

The Empire State's compound was walled, a sudden military presence in a neighborhood filled with tourist shops, clothing stores, and a number of Korean restaurants, squat and adorned with spirals of razor wire. Uniformed guards walked the perimeter, meeting in groups of two or three beneath the blood red canopies that shaded their walkways. Not far away stood the Empire State Building, the gang's namesake, looming high over them all, but here at street level looking up at the massive gate that bore the Empire State's insignia you entered a different world, and Antoni felt it all was a calculated display to make the guest feel exactly that way. 

He cast a glance toward Dasha, but the blonde looked blank and bored behind his equally blank mask and he should have expected that, shouldn't he? Dasha had worked for the Koreans for years, he had started as nothing more than a hired soldier but he had earned their respect and trust, and Antoni's Uncle's esteem, and he served more as an ambassador these days, most often watching over the Empire State's Gongjunim and serving the interests of the Wangja. 

The Wangja, Rhee Min-Jun, was a known quantity, of a mercurial mood and vicious when provoked but easily lulled into the image of complacency: he would be your friend until he wasn't, how long was up to you. 

The Gongjunim, however, was the unknown quantity in this equation. Rhee Hyo-Jin, Dasha knew her well, and he described her as cold and studious, staid and calm compared to her cousin, but just as vicious. She had a body count of her own: an acting avtoritet among her own people, men who answered to her command and she shed blood with little more compunction than the Seongwang, her Uncle, Rhee Myung-Dae, did. 

Antoni had heard stories, some about a wedding that had ended in the deaths of all but one man. It was told to him that she had raised a glass to the man who was responsible for her mother's death, and said "Let us offer a toast for the happy couple... and the unhappy survivor."

Dasha had been there, and Antoni considered Dasha a reliable source. It had been her first act as an Empire authority, a brigadier among his own ranks, but the idea of a woman gaining power in the Bratva was laughable. The Empire State was a true empire and the Wangja and Gongjunim were one day going to rise to power, that was inevitable. She had been born for it, raised for it.

She was nineteen years old, much too young, and altogether presented the image of an unappetizing partner, and he already felt most displeased by the announcement that the Empire State wished to make an alliance, one that involved making bonds he had no wish to make. 

His Uncle, however, had been thrilled by the idea. 

"You are almost thirty. How is it you expect to take mantle from me with no heir, hm? You want to be like me, wondering when you may find the right man to take control from you, hm? Who may decide to hasten your fall from power? How do you think I got where I am, hm? You want same problem? Grow old, no wife, no children? Alone? This what you want?"

Vadim Putlova was a broken record, his sister Tatiana, Antoni's mother, Side B, and his life had been made a living hell for the past several months and only in the last several weeks had he found any peace. 

Disappearing into the scenery of Gravesend had at least given him distance from his family in Brighton and Greenpoint, and at least his brothers' constant teasing was tolerable when compared to the badgering of his elders. 

"This is not the old days," he switched to Russian fluidly, he had learned it at his mother's knee in Warsaw. "I will not be told when to marry, and to who! This is America, I can choose who I want!"

Vadim scoffed at him, and continued stubbornly in English. 

"Listen to you. Not even a decade in America and you are spoiled brat. We are older, we know better. They have money, we have firepower, we both want revenge. I want you grown up, Antoni, a family man. I am not living forever, you know. She is beautiful girl, she will give you beautiful children. You have seen picture."

He muttered a curse. 

"She is a child, and one I have no interest in. I did not choose her!"

"Yes, she is young, good, plenty of time to carry your children. Young and healthy, yes? Who you choose then? You know so much better?"

His mind worked fast. 

"There is a young woman in my neighborhood. She has expressed interest." 

"Oh yes. You give up this deal for some little Guinea tart."

He spat another curse and Vadim howled in laughter. 

"Oh yes? Someone has caught my nephew's eyes? Makes no difference. Who says you cannot still see her, hm? You get married, you have baby, you are done. You go play with your little Gravesend girl. Give her a bit extra money, she don't mind you go see your wife. One day you run that neighborhood, she will be happy she kept you." 

Antoni nearly laughed. The scenario presented was comical when he took her image and inserted it within his mind. She was no one's second best. She was herself, unabashedly, and had been since the moment she had barreled straight into his arms. 

Well, to be exact, she had rounded the slight corner of the stairwell, pounded down the first few steps and toppled over Igor. He had tripped, the couch had quite literally broken his foot, and she had rolled into a ball and finally stopped her momentum just at the opposite arm of the couch. 

It had left them face to face, close enough that he got a puff of cinnamon flavored breath as she laughed nervously and popped her gum. 

He had been shirtless, sweating in June heat, hauling furniture up an awkward, narrow, steep staircase. She had looked him over, she neither made it obvious nor ever attempted to hide it, and a grin lit her face as she looked back to his and her expression and her greeting said she knew exactly what his tattoos meant. 

"Well then. Welcome to the neighborhood, comrade." 

She'd slipped past him, not saying anything else as she tucked her long black hair into her ballcap, only the turquoise shock of hair that swept across her forehead and the tangled knot she'd dragged through the back visible. 

She'd looked back at him, he'd still been watching her and she'd caught him, and her grin was teasing and pleased. She worked for the Italians, he learned later, was very close to the one they called the under boss, she sold information as readily as dry goods, and she had a shockingly filthy mouth that Antoni found very intriguing.

Her brashness left him feeling strangely quiet, and he had the feeling the time to make his request had passed now: she knew who he was, what his being there meant. 

Unlike the others, she was cautious but unafraid and she had put a sign on the door in Polish 'for your fucking benefit' she had told him, pointing with a black metal baseball bat, "Only one Zabrowska at a time." underneath one that read "Only one child under 18 at a time."

She considered him a threat. He knew any attempt at an overture now would be taken as unwelcome, intimidating not inviting. His image and his reputation had been carefully cultivated, but in a situation like this, it left him looking more like a predator than a potential partner. He didn't want to frighten her.

"No. I will not. She deserves more."

"She will either understand or she will not. You are a businessman, Antoni, your decisions affect more than just yourself."

They were stopped at the gate, entered through a side door, through a metal detector, stood still again as a nameless guard wanded them. 

"Is all of this necessary?"

"They are not stupid. Large crowds create large targets. It is the printsessa's birthday. She has her own enemies, yes? Why you think Myung-Dae ask for you? She will need protection." 

"Yes, that is exactly what I need, to take on enemies that are not my own." 

"Many of them *are* your own." 

He didn't know the story, but he had been told that the Italians were responsible for a grave insult to the Empire State, something worse than the loss of a few streets that had damaged the decades long treaty between the Bratva and the Camorra.

He knew it involved the Gongjunim, but he knew nothing more, only that Dasha had once told him it was no wonder she was of a frigid personality with what she had gone through. 

He could see them, across the room, a raised dais on which three black thrones were placed. Dasha spoke briefly with the guards who kept a distance between the party goers and the dais. People were coming forward one by one to offer gifts and new pledges of fealty. Hyo-Jin looked bored and her scarlet lips were screwed into an unpleasant snarl beneath the viper mask she wore, teeth ivory white and perfectly straight, the ruby glittering from the center of the forehead matching the red and black contacts in her eyes: she looked inhuman, some serpentine goddess greeting her acolytes and demanding sacrifice. Vadim seemed more than willing to offer Antoni for that sacrifice. 

Min-Jun looked bored: he'd been nursing a glass that looked like it had been filled with something pink but was only filled with ice now. He kept pulling on the straw. The sound cut into Antoni's head even over the music and the sound of the crowd and Myung-Dae snapped something in their language that made Min-Jun roll his eyes and hand his drink to a passing waiter without looking. 

"We are next," Dasha whispered and Antoni took a deep breath and straightened his spine. "You will be expected to bow, do not look too long at the printsessa's face, Myung-Dae will take it as an insult." 

Antoni snorted. 

"I have no interest in the child."

()()()()()()()()()

(May, 2004 Gravesend, Brooklyn, New York, USA)

The words were whispered, but as they came from behind a silk partition it did nothing to muffle the sound. She'd been brought to a warehouse on what Becca thought was Stillwell. There had been a bag over her head, and she had only counted three to four minutes of travel time, a U Turn, a left turn, then another left turn into what had to be a parking lot. Don Linguine hadn't taken her far. She'd stepped outside the bodega for a stop at the ice cream truck. She wondered if her mother had realized what was wrong yet.

She'd bitten the big man that had grabbed her, and for a moment she had been afraid he would hurt her, but Captain Guido had laughed off his anger and she'd been crawling with disgust by the end of the ride because the creepy fuck kept his arm around her shoulders the entire time, and she'd had to spit the blood down her own chin.

The room looked like it had been an office, and part of it still served that function, but behind the silk partition there was an area that had been converted into a bedroom, and the center of the room held dual couches facing each other with a TV set on a thin console against the wall. 

The room was a study in opposites: peeling taupe colored paint covered in Renaissance and Baroque art, it looked real, and the rugs hiding the concrete floor looked authentic too. The desk was an immaculate monstrosity of some impossibly dark wood and the industrial block of windows behind it were rusted. Exposed pipes sat beside ancient tapestries.

"I don't like children, Giacomo, they have no taste." 

"Jesus Christ, Nia, I didn't bring her here for you to kill her."

"Why else would you bring her here, James?"

"I need a place to keep her for a few hours. Old Sam's gonna crack fast. Nobody's gotta hurt the kid. You just gotta watch her for a couple of hours until the old man caves."

"But I dont *like* children, Giacomo."

"So don't think of her as a child, think of her as a tiny adult." 

There was a sound of disgust from the woman. 

"What am I supposed to do with her? How long am I going to be burdened with her, Giacomo?"

The man made a sound of frustration. 

"Dio caro, woman, the things I have asked you to do over the years and *this* is what you buck me on?"

What a strange fucking conversation. 

Her hands were tied, and her feet: she wasn't going to make it far like that, but they'd taken the bag off at least and there was no gag. If her internal GPS was working they were in one of the warehouses down by the water, so they weren't worried about her screaming: there was nobody to hear. 

"Christ, really, just talk to her, play a game, tell her a story. Keep her occupied for a couple of hours, come on, baby, this is the smallest thing I have ever asked of you, Princess. You really gonna dissappoint me on this?"

Becca heard nothing else from the woman and soon Jimmy left, adjusting his tie and jacket back into immaculate form and exiting without ever acknowledging the bound four year old as he passed her.

()()()()()()()()()()

(June, 2016 Rochester, New York, USA)

Her legs were numb, and her ass, too, and she had to piss like a race horse. 

"Come on, Pops, Jesus, gimme the keys. I gotta go."

Rossi laughed at her, fumbling with the ring of keys before unclipping one and tossing it over his shoulder to her. 

"Told you not to drink all that water Rebecca." She snatched the key away from him and hurried inside, pounding up the stairs and ripping the dust cover off of the toilet. 

Funny how something as simple as relieving yourself after a six hour car drive could border on ecstasy, but Becca Rhee believed in appreciating the little things, like that bombass hand soap that smelled like actual ripe peaches, or those soft ass towels that were supposedly for looks but ended up in a sad ball on the counter by the end of the day. 

They had already brought in most of the bags, Rocc was teasing Nia about carrying so many of them herself, and the domestic scene had an underlying horror to it that amused Becca: the tiny blonde was stronger than he was and he knew it. He also knew she would never hurt him and as she watched them Becca was beginning to think that something more was happening here than just a weekend trip. 

There was so much sweetness lingering about it made her fucking teeth hurt. 

"That about it?" 

Rossi made a sound in the affirmative, he tended to go a bit nonverbal when content and he was already at the humming stage. Becca couldn't blame him. 

This place was peace. There were cars from the road, sure, but that was near a mile away and all around them was nothing but their land. It had become a sanctuary for the three of them, an escape from the blood and soot of Gravesend, and after nine years of weekend trips and summer vacations, Becca had grown to love the farm as much as Pops did. Nia had grown up in a place like this, fields of crops and animals, the workers who cared for them, and Rebecca imagined that these trips brought back happy memories. 

It was what Rocco had that Jimmy didn't, and every trip for their little trio meant Giacomo Chiellini was sitting by himself somewhere while they had fun all to themselves.

Nia was smiling in the setting sun, and she was beautiful. In the twelve years she had known her, she had not aged more than a few months before one day she would reappear fresh and new, eternally twenty six, and it meant she had made another kill, triggered another Renewal. 

Rossi grew older, he looked good for his age but he *was* aging; his hair was more gray than black these days and a lifetime of smiling had left deep lines in his face, but nothing seemed to change for Nia, it had maybe even gotten stronger. Anyone who spent more than thirty seconds in their presence knew the little blonde adored the older man. Becca had heard people talking shit before, heard assumptions about gold digging or complaints about old men with too young women and sometimes she couldn't keep the derisive laughter inside.

If only they fucking knew. 

"Hey, look, Pops, I'm gonna go unpack real quick and take the dust covers off my room, yeah?"

Rocc hummed in the affirmative and nodded in her direction before looking back to Nia, his hand smoothing over her hair, looping loosely around the back of her neck as she leaned toward him. She was mumbling something in Italian and Becca knew better than to try and translate anything said with that tone.

Becca snickered. Utterly sickening. 

She hefted the three duffel bags onto her shoulders and started the slog up the stairs, slower this time, to her room. 

She remembered the process from previous trips: dust covers were carefully balled up and thrown into the hallway, Rossi would gather and wash them in the morning. She made her bed with the contents of the first duffel bag, packed the clothes in the other two into the chest of drawers beside the vanity, and threw herself onto the freshly made bed. 

It was amazing how tired you could get from a car ride, I mean really, think about it, all you're doing is sitting there... This mattress had no business being so comfortable. 

She woke hours later. It was dark and she was freezing to death and that probably had more to do with the fact that she'd fallen asleep with her shoes on and someone had covered her with a blanket but at this moment, it was only warming her feet, wrapped tight around her sneakers. 

She winced as she crawled out of bed. She'd slept wrong and after the car ride, she felt stiff. After a hot shower, she felt marginally human again and as though she might actually have working joints. 

She tiptoed down the stairs this time. Her cell phone said it was 2 AM and she wasn't sure if Nia was asleep, but Pops would be. He was getting old, whether he wanted to admit it or not, but Becca had the feeling Nia enjoyed taking care of him and Rocc? Well, Rossi was just a man in love, and in his estimation him overlooking her lack of humanity was fair exchange for her ability to overlook the lifestyle. Not every person could handle it, but Nia was the sort of... person who would barely blink an eyelash no matter what request was made. She loved Rossi in return, as much as she was capable of it, and would move a mountain stone by stone if it was his sincere demand. 

It was kind of a fucking bummer actually. 

Talk about growing up with unrealistic expectations of relationships!

She was starving, and the caretaker had gone ahead and filled the refrigerator and a bowl of cereal sounded like exactly the thing. 

It was dead quiet, here in the house you couldn't even hear the cars on the road. Over the crunching of her cereal, she soon realized it wasn't nearly as quiet as she thought. 

"Jesus Christ, why aren't you asleep?" She nearly choked on her cereal. There was no moaning, thank God, but the creaking of springs were audible even through the floorboards. Goddamned old house. "Somebody brought some Viagra. Goddamn, Pops is going to town."

Her fucking earphones were upstairs, too, going back to her room meant going past their door and the noises were loud enough down here. 

She crunched her cereal as loudly as she could, hummed, and eventually retreated to the front porch to smoke a cigarette and it was an all clear by the time she returned inside. 

Jesus, it had almost been an hour. She jumped a little when the sound of the sink running cut through the dark. 

"Holy shit, Rossi was gonna break that fucking bed, wasn't he?" 

A feminine yelp came in answer, the sound of water hitting the floor, then a disapproving whisper. 

"Rebecca! Why are you awake?" 

"I woke up, didn't wanna lay there. Then I had to retreat out of ear shot of the Bed Spring Symphony."

Nia had approached with her half empty glass of water, sipping at it carefully. 

"Yeah, I bet you're thirsty. He was getting it!" 

Her cheeks grew to a painful red and Rebecca grinned wider: she'd fed, too. 

"That was me, actually."

"Nia! Goddamn, you blew that old motherfucker's back out! Jesus, this is gonna be the worst trip ever. How are we supposed to go riding if he can't get out of bed?"

"Rebecca!" Nia hissed, and the blush seemed fiercer somehow as she sat beside Becca. "Nonsense. I didn't hurt him. He quite enjoyed himself. He's sleeping very well at the moment."

"I bet he is!" 

Nia made another sound, some blend of disgust and dismissal. 

"You should go to sleep, Becca, we have plans in the morning."

Becca smiled as she felt a hand on her hair, brushing it back from her closed eyes. 

"Nah, I'm not sleepy... just resting my eyes, Ma."

She was humming... that was just playing dirty. She closed her eyes again, and leaned her head against her breast, the weight of the thin arm over her shoulders comforting.

()()()()()()()()

(July, 2019 K-Town, Manhattan, New York, USA)

They were next and the herald placed at the edge of the dais announced them as representatives from Brighton. 

Antoni kept his eyes trained on the carpeted dais beneath his feet as Vadim began the introductions. 

"I don't care." 

The voice was cultured, a carefully cultivated tone of cold boredom and laced with the intonation of her native language, and Antoni prickled with irritation as from the corner of his eye he watched her pull a phone from one of the wide black sleeves of the gunmetal gray hanbok she wore. 

Myung-Dae spat something that Antoni did not understand and Hyo-Jin's full red lips curled into a simpering smile. 

"I am not playing with them, Uncle. I have no *desire* to play with him, that is rather the point."

There was the sudden sound of a crowd from tiny speakers and Antoni looked up despite himself. 

Vadim looked on the verge of an apoplexy. 

She was watching a football game. 

There was more barked Korean from Myung-Dae and Min-Jun looked close to losing all semblance of calm: he was laughing and Antoni felt a stab of humiliation. 

"Despite all of my moral and ethical obligations, this is hilarious, Appa..." Min-Jun wheezed. 

Hyo-Jin ignored her cousin.

"No, Uncle, I did not agree to the proposal, I agreed to hear the proposal. It has been heard... and dismissed. I would sooner sell myself for a night than for a lifetime." Her voice added a sickeningly sweet tone. "Perhaps you can get them to change their offer, Uncle." 

"You talk a lot of shit for a virgin," Min-Jun inserted helpfully and Hyo-Jin sent him a snide look.

Myung-Dae was angrier than Antoni had ever seen, but the girl seemed unaffected, letting loose a peal of bell-like laughter as she took in her Uncle's expression and Antoni felt a sudden rush of fondness for the stranger. 

"Korea vs Poland tonight, you know." She lilted, one hand holding out a glass that a waiter stepped forward and immediately filled with a murky looking alcohol. She sipped at it without ever removing her eyes from the phone's screen. "How humiliating for you. Poland is losing to Korea twice in one night." 

Her hair was slicked back from her face and looped into a complicated knot, a black carved stick the only decoration that adorned it. 

He smiled and she looked up at him briefly. 

"No shame in the loss of a game well played." He said carefully. "A comfort that at least two of us are in agreement."

He would regret it later, they both would, Toni knew that, but in this moment negotiations had stalled and could go no farther. 

Hyo-Jin stood, and Antoni smiled again as he bowed as readily as Dasha did, and from the corner of his eye saw Vadim fumble his way into a bow. The Wangja and Seongwang stood but did not bow, and a small force of armed men appeared from seemingly nowhere as the Gongjunim descended from the dais. 

She paused for a moment next to them and again from the corner of his eye he saw that she did not even turn toward them: she kept looking straight ahead, her back was as straight as a rail and both arms were hidden somewhere in the trailing black sleeves that she kept folded across her abdomen, the rest of her body lost beneath the wide gray skirt of the hanbok. There were bats embroidered along the collar, and pomegranates. Her perfume smelled of fruit.

"Dasha. I wish to speak with you when you are finished with your people."

Dasha dipped his head momentarily lower in response. 

"Ne, Gongjunim."

Antoni let out a breath, closing his eyes briefly. He was granted a reprieve, thank God.

()()()()()()()()()

He could smell the steam coming from inside of the apartment even before he entered it as her voice had bid him do so. 

Hyo-Jin's apartment was in a separate wing of the compound, not that the poor child ever got to spend more than a few days outside of that hovel in Brooklyn. 

Rhee Hyo-Jin was a whispered name, a figure that acted from the shadows, whose command was followed absolutely and who men fought and died for with no hesitation, but few people knew her frequent absence wasn't from any virgin piety but from the fact that Rebecca Rhee was a hostage. 

Her movements were watched, her time away from Gravesend monitored and followed and that was where she was returning to now. 

Her makeup had been removed, eyes their normal black and the damp fringe near her face a lime green now that the temporary dye had been rinsed from it. 

"Spill your fucking guts, Dasha."

"He hates you." He said without ceremony and Becca let out an ear splitting whoop before she stopped. 

"And why the hell do you look like that?" 

"He has said as much, and now your Uncle is offended, and Papa is offended on his behalf and now he is having a very bad night. I feel sorry for him."

Becca scoffed. 

"He's a big boy. He can handle his self. Look, I gotta get. Give Jun a kiss for me, yeah, tell him I love him."

"I will get no kisses. Jun will be angry with me. He thinks you are selfish for not marrying when you are told."

"You tell Jun to go fuck himself, okay, he married his best friend. She tolerates her procreational duties and then she goes back to her girlfriend and Jun goes back to you. Somehow I got the feeling I ain't gonna be so lucky."

Dasha returned the peck on her cheek. 

"No, malen'kiy. He is of a jealous nature. He would expect a true wife. He would expect you to obey, and if you did not obey he would punish you, and he would enjoy it. His interests do not align with yours. Jun does not understand that."

"Well, no one what can't take a little mouth is gonna last a day with me. He'd be crying back to Papa in a week asking for an annulment." 

She turned away from him, combing her damp hair into place in the mirror. 

"No, printsessa, the fight is exactly what he wants. He enjoys the disobedient. He enjoys breaking them."

Becca nodded, pulling her ball cap over her head with a frown. 

"I get that much, Dash. He's got dom written all over him, and submissive I am not. If he's ever curious about learning to enjoy a little boot worship, I'll be happy to help, though. Just got a brand new pair. No man is too tall as long as they're on their knees. Now there is an appetizing image..." She paused, glancing down to her feet. 

"I gotta say, that fucking mustache of his was kind of doing it for me," she said with a grin. "I was being an asshole, but I'm still up for that one night stand if tall, dark, and quiet is game. I'll fuck up his whole world. He won't even be worried about marriage." Becca laughed and Dasha only stared at her and she eventually rolled her eyes and sighed.

"No goddamned sense of humor. I'm gonna leave through the kitchens, baby, you gonna walk me?"

Dasha nodded in the affirmative and Becca stood on her tiptoes and he stooped to accept another kiss to his cheek. 

Disaster had been avoided for another short time. The little one was still safe.


	2. Interlude: Dream #1

(December 2019 Gravesend, Brooklyn, New York, USA)

He stared at her, momentarily speechless. Her small form was curled on the opposite end of the couch, bare legs drawn to her chest, chin leaned down and most of her face hidden from view. 

What the fuck was she doing here? Why the *fuck* were her eyes black? 

"How did you get in my apartment?" Peter yelped. 

"I don't know."

Even conscious as he was of her location, her voice sounded the same: she was on every side of him, surrounding him. 

"Am I dreaming?" He whispered. 

She tilted her head to the side, one corner of her mouth visible, curled into a smile. 

"Of course."

Absurdly, the answer brought some measure of calm to him. 

"I'm dreaming," he repeated, and she nodded. 

The movement was momentarily blurred, as though she were simultaneously moving faster and slower than she should be and his stomach lurched with a sudden wave of nausea. 

This wasn't natural. 

Her cherubic lips curled into a frown, and a pit of cold formed in his stomach. 

"You're afraid of me."

Her voice echoed around him, laced with hissed accusations along with the normal timbre of her voice, and his stomach dropped. 

"I told you I didn't think this was a good idea. You... you lied to me. You're going to get me killed. Jimmy would mutilate me if he ever knew--"

"Now you are afraid of Giacomo? Yet you never felt the need to step forward and tell any of us that the Russians were here?"

The whispers were sly now, he felt like her voice was wrapping around him, he swore he could feel it like hands on his face. 

"Of course I am afraid of him. That's why none of us has told him. There are kids that live in this building, Becca lives in this building. We don't want Jimmy on this side of the street any more than we want the cops down here."

She seemed to consider that, the whispers were humming. 

"I won't tell him," she whispered, and the voices around him echoed and shifted and he felt a moment of vertigo as he realized she was face to face with him. 

He felt like he was frozen in place, his heart lurched in his chest, and this close looking into the black of her eyes felt like staring into a yawning void. Moisture glittered from the corner of her eye like tar and her breath as it puffed against his face felt cool and smelled sweet as it had in the alleyway. 

He cursed inwardly as his body responded as one leg was thrown over his thighs, and he felt for a moment that he might lose consciousness altogether. His head felt cold, he felt dizzy, and despite the terror swelling in his chest, his cock strained toward the pressure of her body as her hips arched teasingly against him.

"You want me. Isn't that enough? Do you think Mino is the only lover I keep? What is another?"

Her nipples were hard, he was painfully aware of the feeling of them pressing into his chest as she rocked harder against him and helplessly he followed her, a moan torn from his throat that she answered in kind. His head fell back against the couch, his hands found her hips of their own volition and he felt her lips vibrate against his exposed throat as his fingertips sank into her flesh and he pulled her tighter against him. It felt like she was purring. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Do you see? Never a truer human emotion... desire. It doesn't lie, no matter what the tongue says. You want me, why deny it?"

He groaned as her teeth found his skin, nipping hard and he realized with a start that he felt air against his stomach, felt the vibration as his zipper was lowered. 

He gasped, his hips arching again even as the word No tore from him, but she already slipped him free and his body had assisted the motion. 

Her bare hand felt cool against his throbbing erection and a sound like a sob tore free from his chest. 

He felt her move, her ankles setting weight just over his knees, she had raised herself and a yell wrenched free from him as his straining cock sunk into her in one smooth motion. She rocked against him again, he could feel her clit stiff against his pubic bone as she ground herself into him, raising her hips and sliding him home once more. 

"No," puffed out again, even as he arched hard against her, sinking himself as deeply as he could go and she moaned and the sound was ecstasy. He couldn't stop himself, he met her every movement, his hands sliding lower to cup the globes of her ass as her muscles worked and flexed beneath his hands. 

"Nia." 

He had been trying to say no, but that wasn't what escaped and he buried his face against her breasts and groaned helplessly again.

He thought about his hands, thought about the marks of fingertips he must be leaving and felt another wave of terror, but he couldn't let go, could not stop assisting the flex and rise of her hips and Jesus fucking Christ, this was every bit as good as he thought it would be. 

Every bit of air escaped his chest as he wrapped his arms around her lower back and met her fully. He was soundless, but the keening moan rising from her throat felt like it was coming from his chest. 

Her breaths panted against his lips, and her breasts were flattened against his chest as she rode him harder, her hips rocking faster and her moans gasped and hungry. 

"I can feel you," she whispered, but her lips were pressed to his, her tongue prising against his lips and he opened his mouth to her. "I can feel your heartbeat." 

He could feel hers as well, he realized, pounding against his chest, throbbing around his cock as she bounced faster. He felt like all the air was being pressed from his lungs, his moans were almost voiceless and he realized she had snatched one hand loose from her hip and had pressed it over her heart. 

Dear God, their hearts were beating in time: the rhythm beating beneath his palm was the same as the pulse throbbing in his wrist. 

Her words dissolved into nonsense and he was thankful. He didn't have the energy to concentrate. All of his senses sunk down to the center of his body. His cock twitched, his balls drew tight and he met every rock of her hips with a thrust of his own and her voice shook in time as their skin met loudly in the quiet room. She was leaning back, he locked his arm around her waist and curled his fingers over her heart. 

"I feel it," she whispered again, her voice close to his ears, before, behind, and her body was clenching around him, her hips jerking against him. Dear God, she was coming and he was so close, too, just one more--

The apartment shook with a sound like an explosion, dust fell from the boards overhead. 

"What the hell?" 

He had lost it, just as quickly his orgasm had slipped away. Another flurry of dust fell from above him and there was a distant booming. 

Her breath puffed against his face again. 

"I hate that man..."

()()()()()()()()()()

Her eyes snapped open. The canopy above her was hidden in the dark, try though she did, she could not focus her eyes. It took her a moment more before she realized it was because a face was pressed close to her own. 

"Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?" 

"Mino... what is happening? Is someone here?"

A gentle chuckle rumbled near her arm. She felt a hand on her face. She blinked several times before Jimmy's face finally swam into focus. 

"No, we're safe, baby. You were talking in your sleep. It woke me up. You sounded upset. Were you dreaming?" 

She stared past him at the canopy. 

"Yes. What was I saying?"

The face left her line of sight, she was pulled sideways across the bed, arranged on her side and she felt him tuck himself against her backside. 

"I don't know... I don't speak German, babydoll." 

His warm breath puffed against the back of her neck. 

"Oh," she whispered, momentarily dizzy with relief. 

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his wrist, her eyes staring blankly at the wall opposite of the bed, her right hand curled over her own heart, her arms wrapped around herself beneath both of his. Her heart was slow again, as it had been for centuries.

"You haven't dreamed on your own in a long time, princess."

"No," she whispered in return. "No, I haven't. "


	3. Chapter 2, Part 1

(December 2019 Gravesend, Brooklyn, New York, NY, USA)

He woke with a start and Tony let out a yelp. 

It took Peter a solid thirty seconds to realize he was sitting up straight on the couch, Tony had been been pounding on his shoulder, his neck was about to break and he was hard as a brick. 

He squeezed his knees together reflexively in shame and blinked at Tony. 

"Jesus Christ, man, if you were going to sleep on the couch, why didn't you lay down?"

He groaned and bent his neck forward, pain lancing between his shoulder blades. His head was pounding in time with his erection. 

"I wasn't intending to sleep on the couch," he muttered. 

He smelled bread, he realized. 

"Where did you get that money?" 

"Out of your coat pocket," Tony muttered around a mouthful of sweet roll, offering one. 

Peter took it glumly, staring at it before he took a bite and replied with an equally full mouth. 

"I was going to give her that money back." 

Tony paused chewing and made a sound of apology. 

"I forgot about that. I paid the rent, too." 

Peter blinked up at him, taking the proffered coffee cup printed with the Rhee Foods logo and taking a sip. It was scalding and he felt immediately awake. 

"I thought you paid the rent already for this month."

Tony paused again and then shrugged, his mustache curling in disgust. 

"I tried. I just never made it to Supe's apartment."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut until they hurt. 

"The Zabrowska Brothers..." he whispered and Tony made a muffled sound of acknowledgement, stuffing the last half of his sweet roll into his mouth as he sat down cross legged on the couch beside him. 

"Who else?"

"How much have they got us for so far?" Peter asked with another sip.

"I think this makes it five grand," Tony answered, and slurped his own coffee. 

Peter did not answer, only shook his head.

There was the sound of a car horn through the windows at street level. 

"Teddy's here," Tony mumbled again and leaned over to press a kiss to Peter's forehead, leaving behind a smear of sugar glaze and several crumbs that he swiped at absentmindedly. 

"Maybe go to bed, buddy, we'll clean up this place when I get home, yeah?" 

"I doubt I'll be able to sleep," Peter answered and Tony made another sound as he left the room. 

()()()()()()()()()()

(August 2008 Mount Sinai Kravis, Upper East Side, New York, NY, USA)

After the fiftieth time of explaining something, one could be forgiven in growing tired of doing so, so Rossi sent Becca no more than a glance from the corner of his eye as she suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair and opened her mouth for the first time since they had sat down in front of the pediatric oncologist. 

All four of them knew what that meant, he hadn't needed to explain to Becca what that word meant when her GP had made the referral to the children's hospital. 

She had just spat "Son of a fucking bitch," and he hadn't bothered to chastise her for her language for the first time in the four years since he'd become well acquainted with the child. 

Son of a fucking bitch was an appropriate response to hearing you had leukemia, no matter what your age. 

"This is bullshit. I should get to decide who is here and who isn't here. I'm the reason we're all here, not him."

"I just," the man looked between Nia and Rossi and Sam, his facial expression making it abundantly clear he thought the entire thing highly irregular. "We are going to be discussing your personal medical details today and I think this is a situation... that is better suited for an environment... where it is only family." 

"Cool," the eight year old answered mulishly. "All my closest family is here. Let's get this show on the road."

His breath hitched in his chest, he did his best to muffle it but he knew at least Nia had heard it because her fingertips were suddenly in his palm and he squeezed them so tightly that the tips of her fingers immediately turned red beneath the pressure. 

The doctor had clearly given up. Sam had offered no word of support to him, but Rossi knew the man was notoriously as cowed by his daughter as he had been by his wife when she had been alive. While Sam might not be happy about how it was that his daughter had come to be so close to Rocco, he also knew that Sam was happy to refer discipline to someone else when it came to Becca and Rossi was ninety nine percent of the time successful with keeping the child on the strait and narrow. Her grades had improved significantly since that dark time just after her mother's death, and the sudden futility of concerns such as those hit him like a well-aimed punch to the gut. 

The doctor cleared his throat and opened the folder that he had finally moved before him. 

"I have been an oncologist for... twenty four years now. This case was referred to me because I specialize in... treating those children who are in the late stages of their cancers."

Rocco squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Becca take a ragged breath and he wasn't sure if it was tears or the last vestiges of the summer pneumonia that had led to these tests being done in the first place, and he was thankful his eyes were shut because nothing humiliated the child more than being seen to cry. 

"Late stage, I don't understand. We just... found out about this." Sam's voice sounded just as ragged as Becca's breathing and Rocco squeezed his eyes shut tighter. 

"More than likely Rebecca has been having symptoms for quite some time. Increased bruising: your daughter is an athlete, bumps and bangs don't get noticed by the father of a gymnast. A cough, fever, fatigue, frequent colds that masked all of this: she is of school age, elementary schools and playgrounds and community centers and church youth groups are breeding grounds for all manner of respiratory bugs. In no way do I want you to feel that you have somehow failed your daughter in this, Mr. Park, but... these test results show me that your daughter is now outside of my scope of practice. In my professional opinion, Rebecca needs to be referred to palliative care, not oncology."

"Is that some sort of treatment?" Nia's voice sounded to Rocco's left and the next sob that tore free from him was echoed by the child to his right. 

"No, Ma, that means I get a Make-A-Wish fund and a casket for my next birthday." There was trembling laughter in her tiny voice. "Assuming I make it to my next birthday."

"This never gets any easier to say, Ms. Bianchi, but your... young friend is correct. Treatment at this point may extend her life--"

"Then we would want to do that," Nia began but the doctor continued. 

"But at what cost to the child, Ms. Bianchi? A few months more, dying still *and* sick? I am... very sorry... but in my professional opinion, what I would suggest is you begin looking into ways to make her final months most enjoyable... and then... her final days most comfortable. Miss Rhee is going to die, at this point that end is inevitable. There is nothing I can do to change that outcome."

()()()()()()()()()()

(December 2019 Gravesend, Brooklyn, New York, NY, USA)

Peter blinked in the morning sun as he rounded the corner of the alleyway, his eyes still sensitive to the light after his stroll through the sewers to get here. 

Becca was standing just outside of the store, the door propped open as she was smoking a cigarette and indulging in her favorite pastime of people-watching, or as Peter preferred to call it, being fucking nosy. 

Then again, monitoring the police was another of Becca's pastimes and that was also currently what she was doing: the sidewalk outside of the building two doors down was scattered with shattered glass, and the trashcan from the street was missing... again. 

He slipped back into the alleyway hurriedly and wrenched the coat from his shoulders and balled it up, stuffing it beneath a garbage bag that Becca had neglected to throw in the dumpster from the night before. The cold of the morning immediately bit at his arms as he again rounded the corner and slinked up to stand beside B. 

"What the fuck is going on?"

He thought the reaction far outweighed the stimulus. She jumped, yelped, and his white button up bloomed a dark red in spots as the contents of the coffee cup in her left hand splattered all over him. 

He made a sound of disgust, sighed and lifted his sleeve to his nose and sniffed delicately.

"What... wait, is this cranberry and vodka? Christ, is the juice bad? Why the fuck are you drinking at seven in the morning?"

"Cause I fucking can, goddamn. Don't fucking sneak up on people like that, the fuck is wrong with you?"

There was a slight slur behind the thickened accent in her words and he frowned at her. 

"Rebecca Rhee, you are smashed."

"It's been a bad fucking morning. I was in a bad mood when I woke up and I just love calling the pigs at four AM and reporting an attempted murder, but, 'ey, I didn't do it this time so let's look on the bright side. And now here you are, Chiellini, yet another pain in my constantly pained ass. This day's been fucking me and I didn't even get a proper hello, let alone a proper amount of lube."

Her jaw was set as she looked straight at him and slurped her clandestine mixed drink and he sighed again as he gave his sleeve another disgusted sniff. 

"The fuck are you even drinking, diesel?"

"It's an acquired taste," she muttered and he could tell by the squint of her eyes, not just the smell of the liquor on his sleeve, that it was more drink than mix, and it clearly burned going down. 

"It smells awful."

B didn't answer him, she was back to cop-watching. 

"Who broke out Luca's window? Do they know? Have you talked to any of them?"

"I mean, he didn't exactly tell me, he was kind of fucking out of it: to be perfectly honest with you I think the motherfucker's got a brain injury... he kept muttering some shit about he was sorry, fuck if I know for what."

There was a clear expression on her face and Peter simply waited. 

"I mean... you didn't hear it from me..." 

There it was. 

"It is amazing how many things people hear from you that are never heard from you."

The girl ignored him. 

"But.. if it wasn't youse guys... then my money is on the sexy bitch."

He stopped. 

"The sexy b-- oh Jesus Christ, Rebecca, Zabrowska? Tell me you're not still nursing that crush... I mean every girl goes through the bad boy stage but you're supposed to pick the punk down the street that none of us like, not the literal enemy insurgent in our building."

Becca snorted at him and took another swill of her drink and a large puff of her cigarette. 

"Whose enemy is he?"

"Rossi's, mine, Jesus Christ, Beccs, I know you want to get back at Jimmy but Antoni Zabrowska is far from being a nice guy..."

"Not my enemy. I don't fucking have sides in this fight, I'm just caught in the cocksucking middle. And what the fuck is he going to do to Pops? The man can't step outside on his own sidewalk, you really think Toni Z is looking at him? Besides, what the hell does it matter? We can't even have a civil conversation between the two of us, not like he's asking me out on a date any time soon."

She sounded thoroughly forlorn about that and for once Peter was immensely thankful for Becca's cuddly as a cactus personality: the old defense mechanism was keeping her safer than she realized. 

"Why would Zabrowska go after Luca though?" 

"It's got something to do with that coat that's been up in the window for the last month or so." She paused as she took another puff of her cigarette and tossed it out onto the street and his stomach was somewhere around his knees. 

"I also heard that something happened between Luca and their sister." 

"Their sister? Jesus, there's a Zabrowska female?"

"Oh, my god," Becca snapped. "Don't say female. You sound like Cipriani."

"Can you please get back to your point, Becca?"

"My point," she snapped again, "is I heard Luca got a little rough with her, not in a manner such as what one might enjoy, if you get my drift."

"Luca? Really? I mean... does he really seem like the type?"

"How often do the fucking creepers ever look like fucking creepers? Look at Jimmy, he throws a fucking charity ball for the children's hospital every year and they actually take his fucking money. You listen to him, he's the most innocent, misunderstood man on God's green earth."

He shrugged, not really able to argue that point. 

"Fuck if I know who would steal a fucking coat though." 

He glanced from the corner of his eye but she was still watching the activity behind the crime scene tape, and he heard no sarcasm in her voice. 

She must not have been paying any attention to what he had been wearing last night. 

"I have no idea."

"But whoever it is, they're gonna have a worse week than old Gianluca down there when Antoni figures it out."

What a wonderful morning. 

"Ah fuck me, here he comes."

Peter jerked back to attention, but it wasn't his worst nightmare, just a cop. 

"What a fucking mess," Nuzzo muttered and Peter relaxed while B tensed until she began to vibrate, her right hand jerking for a moment before she shook out another cigarette and caught it between her lips. 

"Jesus, Rhee, can you not do that in front of me?" 

"Do what?" Becca muttered around her cigarette and lit it, a puff of smoke exiting her mouth. 

"That. You are not old enough to be smoking that, and you know it." 

The cigarette rolled to the right side of her mouth. 

"That's a bullshit law and *you* know it." 

"I don't make the laws, B."

"No," she spat, "You just follow the stupid fucking laws with no question." 

Sergeant Nuzzo hmphed. 

"It's not my job to question, alright. The civil disobedience is not exactly *my* thing, is it?"

The girl's eyes narrowed, pulling the cigarette from her mouth and spitting at the base of the store wall. 

"Oh yeah? You got something you wanna say, Nuzzo?"

"Oh come on, B, like we don't know exactly who that little punk that shattered the glass out of that cruiser in Bushwick was? The one in the 'Free Rossi' hoodie?"

Peter looked to Becca, and he was half sure he could see the hairs on the back of her neck standing up like a puffed up cat about to strike. 

"Oh yeah?" She repeated again. "You wanna ask some fucking questions? Go ahead. I'll have my lawyer meet us at the precinct." 

Nuzzo made a sound of disgust. 

"You know, normal nineteen year olds don't have a lawyer on retainer, B." 

"Oh yeah? So go harass some normal nineteen year olds, then." 

Nuzzo threw his hands up, which was standard operating procedure for anyone dealing with Rebecca Rhee. 

"Jesus Christ, B, can I get my coffee or what?" 

"Get your fucking coffee. I don't want your blood money. Get your coffee and get the fuck off my property." 

Nuzzo shot him a look as though somehow Peter was responsible for this display of bad behavior, but he just offered a helpless shrug and the man turned away as he dissappeared into the bodega. 

"Motherfucker!" She was getting loud now. "Here they all come."

He knew these three: Ronson, Gugino and Renault. 

Ronson said nothing, as was his wont, Renault sent an apologetic look their way that B begrudgingly returned with a nod. Gugino, however, stopped in place and stood still, staring Becca in the face. He noticed the lines of her shoulders changing and Peter had the fleeting thought that smart people didn't stand that close to Rebecca when she looked that irritated, but then again... this *was* Gugino that was being talked about. 

"What the fuck do you want, Anthony?"

Her eyes had finally snapped forward and up, looking at the man who was currently so close it even made Peter uncomfortable. 

"We ain't friends no more? You can't even say good morning?" 

"It's not a good morning." Was her only response and Gugino chuckled. 

"I say it's a good morning. First thing I got to do this morning was look at your pretty face, and I gotta say, you have grown up into a beautiful girl, Becca." 

"Jesus fucking Christ," B spat, and slurped her coffee cup as loudly and rudely as possible. 

Gugino let out a peal of laughter as he turned and followed his fellows into the store. 

Becca made a gagging sound as soon as he was out of sight. Peter felt slightly slimy just from watching that exchange. 

"That's exactly my fucking point about the fucking pigs. That motherfucker has been saying shit like that to me since I was fourteen. You think Nuzzo has ever done a goddamn thing about that fucking pedophile?" 

"Look, B, Mike is an awkward position, alright. He pushes too hard in either direction, he loses."

"Oh joy, so he's not just corrupt, he's a coward."

"Come on, B," Peter began. 

"No. He doesn't get a fucking pass just because he's your Baby Mama's Uncle, Peter. Maybe when he was still a rookie, but look at him now. He's been in Jimmy's back pocket so long, that's not gray in his hair, it's pocket lint."

"We're all in the same ocean, B, just trying to keep our head above water. Like you and I don't get *our* money from the same sources."

"No. Bullshit. Pigs don't get special treatment, alright, if they are the initial arbiters of all things right and wrong, then they oughta be above all reproach, not immune to it. Half of these motherfuckers are on someone's payroll, and the other half will beat you to death as soon as look at you. Like you and Cipriani didn't get stopped every five minutes when 'stop and frisk' was going on, and Tony doesn't even have a criminal record, all anybody knows is association and hearsay. A lawyer will demand hearsay be removed from the record, but it's perfectly fine for a cop to limit your freedom of movement based on it?"

"I mean... I got nothing to say to all that, B."

"That's your fucking problem, Peter, you never have anything to say."


	4. Chapter 2, Part 2

Peter couldn't think of anything to say to that either, but he was saved from admitting that fact by the sound of a gravelly voice behind him. 

"What is this shit?"

Peter and Becca both glanced back to find Danny and Haris not far behind them. Danny looked as though he were half-asleep and Haris looked half-dead. 

"I hate this place." Haris mumbled, eyes locked on the crime scene tape ahead of them with an appropriate level of casual disgust for a born Brooklynite. 

"Morning, baby. How's your Mama?" Becca leaned her head back and Danny leaned forward to press his cheek against her lips, standing for a moment longer with his arm around her shoulders.

"Bad pain morning." Danny Boy whispered in his quiet growl and Becca made a noise of commiseration. 

"Yeah, cancer's a fucking bitch."

The mood among the four of them seemed to turn more solemn after that point, until Becca tossed her head to the right. 

"You see that shit? Only place I wanna see that many pigs at once is inside of a slaughter house."

"Jesus Christ, B," Peter muttered and Danny gave a grating chuckle. 

"I got her bag ready in there, baby boy, coffee's fresh."

Danny smiled sadly. 

"Just put it on my tab, Beccs."

He clapped her lightly on the shoulder, and Becca sighed and took another draw off of her cigarette. 

"Broke fuck," she grumbled underneath her breath. 

Nuzzo was exiting the store by this point, sending Becca another displeased glance. 

"You know, those things are bad for you."

Becca froze in place, jerking her head toward the man and from the corner of his eye, Peter saw Haris' eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. 

Her cigarette crashed to the ground in a flurry of sparks, and her voice grew progressively louder as she spoke. 

"What's it gonna do, Nuzzo? Is it gonna give me cancer? Shorten my life expectancy? Stunt my goddamned growth?" 

She was screaming by the end of it, the three still in the store were staring in Becca's direction and, somehow, Haris' eyebrows had climbed even higher. Danny had his back to them and didn't even look toward Becca. 

Peter heard tears in her voice, and he tensed but did not look toward her: he'd rather take a chance staring at the Shy Guy than looking Becca in the eye right now. 

He didn't need to focus on her to see that she had gone white, her skin a sudden stark contrast against the black and blue of her hair. 

"All of you, get the fuck out!" 

She was still howling, her voice echoing across the Avenue, getting caught in the train supports and echoing back down off of the tracks, even over the sound of the cars. 

Ronson looked as startled as Gugino did, but neither man's expression looked quite as severe as Renault. He was looking straight at Becca, and his expression was some odd mix between fear and compulsion: he seemed momentarily poised between fleeing and advancing toward her and he finally stumbled over his own feet and darted for the door as she bellowed again. 

"Now! Out!"

Even Gugino was smart enough to want to save his own skin, apparently, because he beat feet quick after Renault, and Ronson barely cleared the door before Becca slammed it shut with a rattle of glass behind them. 

"Goddamn," Haris muttered and Nuzzo began a good half dozen sentences before he finally managed to spit, 

"What the fuck is her problem? Is she off her fucking meds again, Peter? Do I gotta say something to Rossi?"

Peter winced visibly. 

"No, Mike, don't do that, alright? Rocc's got enough to worry about right now. Trial starts tomorrow. Look, I'll... I'll handle it, Mike."

Peter had never seen a more doubtful look pass anyone's face than the one that floated across Haris', and Mike let loose a sound of disgust as he swept a dismissive hand toward Peter and spun on his heel. 

Haris grunted, some animal sound signaling disapproval and fear and looked to the door before he looked Peter in the eye and shook his head. 

"I don't even want the coffee. I'm awake enough. I hate this place," he muttered again, then spun on the heel of his trainer and headed back in the direction of their apartment building. 

Peter sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. 

He still had to talk to Becca, whether she liked it or not, and it was looking like the answer was decidedly not. He didn't like those odds. 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

(June 2018 Gravesend, Brooklyn, NY, USA)

The kitchen was in full swing, Rocco could hear Bobby bellowing over the sounds of pots and pans and the roar of gas flames. The front two sections had been full, but this back section was empty as it almost always was. 

Rossi sent a billiard ball skidding across the table with his hand, the 8 ball hit the 3 and it ricocheted off the table wildly and went tumbling somewhere to the floor. 

He didn't knock, and his cousin looked up from his paperwork with a moment of annoyance on his face before he laughed and pulled his reading glasses from his nose. 

"What the hell is going on out there?" Rossi jerked a thumb behind him. 

"Birthday party," Jimmy answered, leaning back in his chair and placing his chin between thumb and forefinger in that way that said he wanted to fight. 

"I wanna talk to you," Rocco began. 

"No."

"No," Rocco repeated, stunned. 

"No. I'm not going to talk to you about this. I know why you're here."

"And how is it you know that?"

"I saw the letter," Jimmy answered simply and Rossi felt a pit form in his stomach. It quickly filled with the cold of rage. 

"You're reading her mail?" 

"Of course," Giacomo answered, as though it should be obvious. "And she's not going to Boston. It's not up for debate."

"She made it into Harvard, Jimmy. I don't think you understand what that means."

His cousin shook his head, lips pursed slightly in a way that stirred a moment of nostalgia in Rocco, he was reminded suddenly of Zio Enzo, and in truth he had not thought of the man in years.

"It means you wasted a lot of money, cogino. I mean, how much did you pay to get her that spot?" 

Rocco's brow creased, his chest ached, he brought one hand to his mouth and gritted his teeth together through the flesh of his lips. 

"The application fee, and the SAT prep classes, the price of extracurricular activities. It may shock you, Giacomino, but some people's children are capable of getting into college on their own merits." 

Jimmy laughed. 

"That's cute," he said with a quick smile, before it dropped just as quickly. "But she's not your kid, cogino. She's never been your kid. She has a father, and it's not you."

"No, she doesn't," Rocco answered raggedly. "What she has is a broken alcoholic shell of a man that does his best to function but can barely take care of himself, let alone her. What she has is a whole truckload of trauma that you are one hundred percent responsible for!"

Jimmy shook his head. 

"Hey, I didn't make that call on her mother. Not my circus, not my monkeys. You gotta let the gooks fight it out amongst themselves."

"You son of a bitch," Rocco whispered. 

"I mean, did you really think I'd let her leave, Rocco, really? Did you? Do you think I'm stupid? I know she's the one that's been cooking the books down there, Jesus Christ. The old man is too drunk to ring up a goddamn sale half the time. The kid's drunk most of the time, too, but she's a little better at handling it than Sam is, eh?"

"You know why she drinks, James... you know why I have worked so hard to give her a normal life."

"I know the goddamn sob story, Rocco, sure I do. But we see things a little differently, cogino. You see yourself as the grand hero, a regular Daddy Warbucks swooped in to save the day. But what I see? I see somebody who should have accepted fate a long time ago. Maybe there's a reason that kid was never meant to grow up, you know?" Jimmy arched his eyebrows. 

Rocco's knuckles cracked as he pressed a fist to his lips. 

"What I see, Rocco, is a sad, scared, lonely old man that could never get out of his own way long enough to have a family of his own so you started taking other people's kids, kids... who were at the bottom of the trash heap for a reason."

"You never cease to amaze me, James, in your ability to truly hate children."

"Cause unlike you, Rocc, I actually think about what these kids have the potential to become. But I'll tell you what, cogino, I'll throw you a bone. You tell the kid to pick NYU, or Columbia, she got into those, too. You tell her to go ahead and waste her time with college, but the instant, and I mean the instant, that she starts to fall back on her duties, she's done with school. You would be better off telling her to stick with what she's good at, Rocco, making me money. I mean, her whole song and dance routine has drawn a whole new clientele to the club. You know, half the time she performs in that old uniform from that Catholic school you sent her to. How'd that work out for you?"

"What's your point, James?"

"I mean, I just find it kind of funny how much you supposedly care about her but she's up there shaking the tits and ass Nia bought her for graduation."

"She's 18," Rocco gritted out. "She does what she wants, whenever she wants, I have fought for years to get her to this point! She is finally an adult, James! That was the point!"

"I'm just saying, I would have never allowed Victoria to do something like that. No one I know would let their daughter get up there and do those things on stage. It's almost like you realize she's not your kid. Makes you look like you don't care about her."

"On the contrary," Rossi gritted. "Everyone knows how I feel about her. That's why she's got it the easiest of all the girls. There is never a hand out of place, no one ever touches her because they know who she is. If she wants to stroll down Fifth Avenue with her tits out walking a cheetah like she's Josephine Baker, I will support her in that."

"I guess I can kind of see it," James said snidely. "I mean, by this point, between the cancer treatment and the blood and the growth hormones and the chemically induced puberty, the permanent cosmetic enhancements is hardly the fakest thing about her."

"You're going to keep talking and you're going to regret it," Rocco said, lowly. "And I'm going to leave before that happens."

Jimmy laughed. 

"You do that."

()()()()()()()()()()()()

(December 2019 Gravesend, Brooklyn, NY, USA)

The door rattled open, and Becca didn't even look toward him. Her head was buried in Danny's chest, Peter could hear the sound of her muffled sobs. He'd had to stoop quite a lot to press his cheek to her hair, and as always the man gave off the impression that his body was just a little too big for the world around him. The graying brown of his hair lay dully against the rich black of Becca's hair. He didn't say anything, and from pinky to thumb his hand nearly spanned the breadth of her back. 

She let go of him eventually, and he remained silent as he passed so Peter just gave him a nod. 

Becca looked washed out, her hair mussed, strands sticking out at odd angles from the blue fringe that swooped across her forehead. Her makeup had bled in dark lines down her cheeks, and Peter had a brief memory of a Korean horror movie he had watched when Becca was five. Sof had been horrified, insisted B would have nightmares. Peter had ended up having the nightmares, though.

Becca climbed onto the stool behind the counter and lit another cigarette. He thought about reminding her she wasn't supposed to smoke inside the store, but thought better of it at the last second. 

"Something tells me this probably has something to do with the phone call I got this morning... asking if you got mugged... cause apparently you don't know how to answer your phone no more." 

"You... you made it seem like she was safe, Becca. You lied. I mean, Jesus, are you trying to get me killed?"

Becca snorted. 

"Fuck, nobody asked you to dangle your dick in front of his nose, Peter. I mean, you heard her. He doesn't get to decide who she sleeps with. Just keep your head down, and you'll be fine." 

Peter stared at her as though she were growing a second and third head. He opened his mouth, but she interrupted him. 

"I mean, if she ever gets close enough to you that she tells you some things about her ex, you're not gonna wonder why she ended up with Jimmy. Cause you take the two of 'em, and compare them, and suddenly Jimmy starts looking like this warm, welcoming, giving young man that had very progressive thoughts regarding the heights women could reach in the work force at the time. You know, if you can try to hold onto your tenuous grasp of reality while you tilt your head and squint hard enough to see the world through her eyes. And trust me, I know the effort that takes. Personally, half the time I think her ex did a better job breaking her psychologically than what she realizes."

"You know, I just don't think I can pull that schism off, even with my lack of talent for seeing things as they really are, " Peter said snidely. 

"Yeah, well, I'll do it for you. As much as it pains me to ever utter a word of praise for that bastard, he's done a lot for her. He got her out of a really bad situation. She was... really naive when Jimmy met her."

He snorted loudly.

"Just say young, Jesus Christ, enough with the cryptic bullshit. She would have been jailbait when he picked her up and he would have been in his mid twenties, her real birthday is listed online."

"You shouldn't believe everything you read online. You take that to mean whatever you want, Chielinni, okay, maybe she was young, but she was already a married woman when they met, and she was already way in over her head with this guy. Like, she spent several months chained up in a goddamned wine cellar, and that's not even a fucking joke. You take a close look at her ankles the next time you see her, you don't believe me."

"I'll pass," he interjected, and she was clearly growing as irritated as he already was.

"Like, her Dad and his Uncles tried to get her away from Carlo after she got married and he wasn't worried about hiding the truth anymore, and they all ended up in boxes for their troubles. She didn't have anybody left by the time this guy was done."

"Sounds like she has great taste in men," he said, wryly, an edge of hysteria in his tone.

"Shut the fuck up. She had only gotten away from him for a very short time when she met Jimmy, she's told me the story, she literally climbed out of a window and ran and then walked and then hitchhiked the rest of the way to Naples with everything she owned in a fucking knapsack, and let me tell you, that's not easy when you were raised the way she was. She literally had to learn how to dress herself and fix her own hair because she'd had a lady's maid her whole fucking life."

"Poor little rich girl," he put in, with the nastiest tone he could manage, and her voice got louder with the next interjection she made in return.

"She ran away to another province and he was still controlling every little detail of her life, he was gonna let her taste just a little bit of freedom before he took that away, too, so maybe next time she'd think twice about running when he let her move around on her own. He was gonna take her back, things were tracking that way when Jimmy did what he did, which was essentially snatch her out from under this guy like he had decided to rescue a mouse from a stray cat. This guy was toying with her, watching her struggle to survive while he hurt her as much as possible, and it didn't matter that she was three hours away from him because this is the kind of guy who has enough money that he never has to worry about making friends with people just cause he doesn't know them. 

"He had people watching her, every move she made, and actually, thank God that Jimmy is the way he is," she held a hand up, ticking things off on her fingers as she spoke. "He'll turn on a dime, he's never had a thought in his head to anything that doesn't benefit him directly, and he really prefers playing with other people's toys over his own, because when he decided he was gonna take her home with him? He saved her from a lot of bad shit. Even right now, she's got scars that are never gonna go away, no matter how many laser or collagen treatments she gets, okay, and she's tried everything there is on the market. Like, are you picking up what I am laying down here, or do I gotta draw you a diagram?"

"I do believe I get the heavily-laden point you're making, Beccs. He's practically her knight in shining three piece suit."

"Good, cause you're so fucking dense it's hard to tell half the time. I'm not saying Jimmy is secretly a good guy, alright, we both know that's a joke, but he promised to protect her when nobody else would or even could, and the one and only time he failed to do so, he started a fucking war over her and he won it. She ended up with him because he helped her get away, she stays with him because as long as she's here, her husband can't touch her."

"Now it's husband? Jesus Christ, is she not even really divorced?"

"Yeah, they are divorced, that's the problem for him. Because when he sent the divorce papers? He didn't expect her to sign them, because those papers said she would forfeit everything she owned in the divorce. All of her family's lands and houses, things that the Bianchis owned for hundreds of years, everything was left to her because she *was* the only one left which means it was all already in this guy's name, and he was going to take *everything* away from her, down to the fucking necklaces her dead mother had left her. 

"And she wasn't going to sign it because it worked, she was scared, but Jimmy convinced her to, he told her he would give her back everything this guy took from her if she let him, and then he went and filed it with old man Gallo before he ever sent it back in the mail, and by the time her husband found out he wasn't her husband anymore, the divorce had already been finalized in the US and she started legally going by her maiden name again."

"Let me take a wild stab at this and say her married name was Calabrese." 

"And how the fuck do you know that?"

"It was the name she used online. Elizabeth Calabrese." He snapped. 

"Yeah," Becca said, after a moment, her tone clearly begrudging. "She likes doing that. She always says the best lies are the ones rooted in truth because they're the easiest to keep up with."

"I thought she just picked it because of where she was from. I mean, she definitely didn't say anything about her husband when I started talking to her, and definitely nothing about the fucking mob boss she's been dating for decades. And the more you talk about it, it sounds like her ex is 'Ndrangheta! God bless her, she's a busy little bee, singlehandedly creating the ties that bind between the Calabrian mafia and the New Brooklyn Camorra. Brings all new meaning to mastering in 'international relations', doesn't it? She even puts her own personal spin on 'ties that bind' to fantastic pornographic effect."

"You're a fucking asshole, you know that? Can you blame her for lying? I mean look at you, practically fucking pissing yourself over this whole thing like you're a little fucking girl. What is anybody gonna do if she just walked up and said, yeah, by the way, I got a fuck buddy client of mine that has a lifetime seat on the Northeast Commission but we have an open relationship and I've gotten a little bored so I was wondering if I could book you for a session of rearranging my insides if next Friday works for you."

"Jeezus. Christ." Peter bit out. "How can you manage to make this sound worse than it already is?"

"Because that's what's going on, okay? If you two met on the internet, alright, and you lied to her, and she lied to you, but then at the end of the night she comes back here and writes a check to my Dad for that amount of cash? I mean, you're mad lucky, guy, cause her internet dates usually end really badly. That means the date went better than what you thought and better than what she expected, and she is trying to tell you, the only way she knows how, that she wants to get to know the real you better. And by get to know the real you better, I mean she wants to find out if any other parts of you are as strangely proportioned as your stupid fucking face, cause I can guaran-goddamn-tee you that it isn't your sparkling conversational skills she's interested in."

He covered his face with his hands. 

"I'm gonna die. I'm gonna stand right here and have a heart attack. I will be the first person in the history of the world to ever actually die of embarrassment."

"Oh Jesus Christ, Thin Man, when the hell did you become so fucking puritan? I mean, yeah, she's a little bit of a runner but honestly I figured you would appreciate that. I mean, really, when was the last time you had a decent lay that didn't begin with money leaving your hands?"

"That is none of your goddamn business, Rebecca!"

"It was a rhetorical question, you mook! Look, I know for a fact you and Tony had that thing going on after you got back out of Rikers because I fucking walked in on you two making out in the kitchen and two of the deadbolts on your front door are because of my stupid ass, the first time you and Sofi broke up because you wouldn't straighten the fuck up and fly right, pun completely fucking unintended, because what was the first fucking thing you did back when you got out but go and start 'working' down at the hardware store, which is exactly what Sofia told you expressly not to do."

"I was a high school dropout with a felony record, I had a five year old to keep in school clothes and supplies, Rebecca, I was 19 years old with eighteen months of back child support payments to make up or I was going to end up *back* in fucking handcuffs, okay, not because of anything my ex did but because of her Dad and the paperwork he filed with the State of fucking New York. Fuck you very much, sincerely, Miss Rebecca, I am done with this conversation, I don't need to explain myself to you," he interrupted, but she had always had the same tendency as Tony did, which was to just keep talking over top of him.

"So I know *for a fact* that when it comes to where your thirsty ass gets your physical affection from that you're not fucking picky and you'll take up with anybody that offers you access to your particular drug of choice. My point is, she's not exactly a player in your usual league, okay, she's not a Bronze medal winner, she's better than decent, not that I know personally or anything, but I've been hanging out with her for years and there's a really long list of guys and girls who are more than willing for a Round 25 to happen, you get it?"

"Good for her," he said, and he was less than pleased to hear the ragged edge in his voice, because he was sure he was growing angrier and more humiliated by the second and he was closer to tears than he wanted to be. "She should have no problem moving on when I don't call her back, then. I think I'll just stick with Tony, he hasn't been having much luck with the girls lately either, and *his* crazy exes are distinctly less likely to have me murdered while I'm sleeping."

"You *don't* fucking get it. Look, the people that she goes out with? They're definitely there to party with her, okay, but they get paid for their time. Believe it or not, dating for her is really fucking hard. Just... finding someone who wants to spend time with her, not for where she can take them, or the money she spends on them, or the things she can do for them or to them, or who she can introduce them to, just because they want to talk to her and she was... she was having fun with *you*, Peter, I could tell. I mean, the way she talks to you. I was watching you two, the whole time. She likes you, just for you, and I know she's hoping maybe you'll look past her scary exterior like she did with yours."

"Don't," he ground out. "Don't you dare twist this around on me, you gaslighting little bitch."

Her expression had changed, gone from wheedling to sour, because he was right, she'd been trying to manipulate him and she was pissed it hadn't worked.

"Hey, don't you fucking talk to me like that, you stupid fucking prick. Cause from where I'm sitting, it's YTA all day long. You took her fucking money, you were more than willing to have a tumble somewhere in between here and the fucking train station, I saw what you looked like when you were walking back last night, like someone else had dressed your ass while they weren't looking, and now all of a sudden you're too good to answer her fucking phone calls? I mean, you've done some stupid fucking things over the years, Petey, but this one takes the fucking cake. All I gotta say is it's been nice knowin' you, B."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean it's your fucking funeral, Pagliacci, it's time to be a tragic Italian clown, cause you just pissed off the one person in the neighborhood that even the Don himself takes a step back from when she's angry. I've sat in her apartment and seen a roomful of goombahs clear out like fucking roaches when the lights turn on because *she* stomped through the doorway in a fit of pique, and you just refused the one person that even Jimmy never says 'no' to. You didn't just step on her toes, you've fucking humiliated her, but she ain't realized it yet and that's the only reason you're still walking the street. Cause I repeat, it's your fucking funeral, so you might as well start picking which picture you want used at the memorial cause there ain't gonna be enough pieces left of you for an open casket, and I ain't even gonna shed a tear at your service, cause frankly you fucking deserve what you're gonna get. 

"I am fucking ashamed I even suggested you to her, that's probably why she responded to your stupid ass ad in the first place, did you even remember to find a stock photo with no watermark this time? She probably recognized your stupid fucking name, and remembered I told her that you were a nice guy with a strange sense of humor, and now this nuclear fucking disaster is gonna be hanging over *my* head. And if you think I won't throw your stupid ass under the bus to do damage control for myself, you're a fool. Now get the fuck outta my shop or I'm gonna tell Nuzzo you were the last person to see Gianluca walking around in one piece last night. Fuck outta my sight. Now!"

"Are you serious?"

She'd been serious, serious enough that she'd sent an empty display wine bottle careening through the air toward his head, it smashed near the front door, and he'd had to duck and dart for the entrance before she sent any of the filled and considerably heavier ones his way. He slammed the door shut behind him, and he'd sent a furtive glance down the street toward Luca's shop window, but none of the cops had noticed anything amiss.

After all that, he hadn't managed to buy anything for lunch.

He stopped beside the dumpster, rummaged beneath the trash bag and retrieved his coat: stealing it had proven to be worse than previously thought but... he was cold. If he kept walking down this alleyway, it was a half block to the deli and he could get something hot there, too. With the stove and the microwave both out of commmission that was a real concern, now. 

He tucked the coat around him, buttoned it shut, adjusted the cuffs just a bit and froze in place as a hulking shadow moved into view and gained detail. 

It was the one they called Misiu, the name meant 'teddy bear' in Polish, Peter knew, but the man reminded him more of a graying grizzly bear: tall, hairy, and decidedly lethal. 

And if Misiu was there, that meant only one thing: Baby Brother wasn't far behind. Peter began moving backwards, his eyes still locked to Misiu's and from around the corner he saw another moving shadow, a blur of dark as the perpetually black clad Antoni rounded the corner. He had a bag of food in his hand, Misiu was carrying drinks, and Peter was wearing the stolen seven hundred dollar coat that had gotten Gianluca sent to the hospital this morning. 

Peter saw Antoni lose his grip on the bag of food and the much taller Misiu look mournfully at the ground as Antoni suddenly vaulted after him, and then Peter saw no more because he was running. 

The soles of his shoes beat out a fierce rhythm over the asphalt as he pelted back down the alleyway toward the Avenue. He could hear Antoni yelling angrily, what he wasn't sure as the man's English was hard to understand at the best of times, when he wasn't enraged and in hot pursuit.

The glass rattled and the bell swung wildly as he pushed back through the front door of the bodega, Becca opened her mouth but never had a chance to speak. 

"Sanctuary!!" Peter screamed, slamming the door shut behind him. He vaulted the glass counter, slammed into the cigarette display and sent a number of packs tumbling to the ground. 

"You stole the fucking coat?" Becca screeched at him and he held his hands up, pleading. 

"I didn't know it was his, Becca, I swear to God," Peter rasped. 

"You fucking moron!"

She was moving toward the register, and he knew what was strapped to the bottom of that counter. 

"Becca, Becca, don't do that."

Peter heard the bell, and his eyes flew to the door. 

Antoni was coming in. 

Peter heard the mechanical noise of the forestock of a pump shotgun sliding, one of those wonders of human communication that translated into any language with the same intent and Peter found his hands reflexively rising to shoulder height as he pressed his back into the corner. 

"That's fucking far enough, Zabrowska."


End file.
